Billy's voice was light. "At least the food is good."
He didn't want to get too deep into the quagmire of life vs. death. Billy had decided that life was worth trying, and that was the only reason he was here. Viewing it as just another long path to death was too depressing for thought, and Billy had enough depression to last him a lifetime. There was something about lying there and thinking about lifting a hand to scratch your nose--and not being able to--that brought all life's little depressions (she left me, the car broke down, I lost my wallet, I got fired from my job) into perspective. He decided to turn the conversation.
"This is the kind of thing you write about? Seems like you're in the wrong industry."